


as we all fall down

by thatonegreenpencil



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, stupid volleyball dorks all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonegreenpencil/pseuds/thatonegreenpencil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ankle sprains are the best, and are always a good learning experience for everyone. Including two dumb volleyball dorks.</p><p>(Russian Translation <a href="ficbook.net/readfic/5864698">here!</a> )</p>
            </blockquote>





	as we all fall down

**Author's Note:**

> So! Hello hello, I'm very glad you've clicked on this fic! This was supposed to be a quick drabble, when did it get so big...? I've been wanting to write for these two dorks for a long time, but this is my first time writing them, so I don't know how good my characterization will be, if I'm honest. Even so! I hope you enjoy~

“Hinata!”

Multiple voices chorus at once, followed by the squeaks of sneakers as they cross the court. Not that Hinata’s listening, his attention fully concentrated on his right ankle where the source of the throbbing pain seems to be. He brushes his fingers against the injured area, then quickly withdraws them with a hiss.

Daichi, who’s always the father-figure, leans close to assess the damage. Hinata can almost _see_ the worry radiating off him in waves if he squints. “You okay?”

“I think-” he attempts to use his arm as a prop and lifts himself off the ground for a heartbeat before dropping back down, a zap of pain jolting up his leg. But the waves of concern that’s starting to engulf him on all sides as more people approach, and the bold, white numbers blaring at him ‘24-22’ takes the words right out of his mouth and causes him to blurt out, “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Nishinoya calls from the back, and the others all simultaneously nod in agreement.

“The score-”

“It’s a practice match,” Daichi cuts in, frown on his face growing deeper and tone leaving no room for arguments. Before Hinata can respond, Daichi’s already calling for Tsukishima to get an ice pack.

Tanaka and Kageyama help him up (‘careful!’ Kageyama hisses to Tanaka multiple times with intense frustration, despite the other being his senior) and guide him to the bench. Hinata gently lets his leg settle beside him. His knuckles turn white from gripping the sides of the bench, and he makes sure his gaze doesn’t meet anyone else’s when Suga secures the ice pack on his ankle, which is slowly turning a dark purple. The red-hot sting of concern targets him from all sides, it seems, and it’s a hundred times worse than whatever physical pain he’s feeling at the moment.

“You’re supposed to elevate it.”

Kageyama’s voice is such a surprise that Hinata breaks his sulking, just for a moment, to turn and stare in bewilderment. Kageyama’s cheeks are brushed with a dark red which Hinata easily interprets as anger. “Here,” the setter says, worry burning at the edges of his regularly-cold voice, and gently lifts Hinata’s leg and slides a few books (Kageyama’s own, it seems) underneath.

Hinata forgets to say ‘thank you’, too busy feeling like a burden.

* * *

On Monday, Hinata Shouyo comes to school with crutches. And he hates it.

He hates the way the teacher doesn’t shout at him for being ten minutes late like he usually does, he hates the way everyone stares at him like he’s grown a second head, he hates the way how all the whispering in the hallways are done with everyone’s eyes glancing at him, he hates the unasked question on the tips of everyone’s tongues, and he especially hates-

“No volleyball!”

Kageyama, who’s come to visit during break to see how Hinata’s been doing but is now the center of Hinata’s ranting, rolls his eyes and tsks. “Of course, that’s what you do when you sprain your ankle. You don’t. Move. It.”

“But no volleyball,” Hinata says slower, because surely Kageyama-the-famed-volleyball-king will surely understand his situation better than anyone else, “for _six weeks._ ”

“Would you rather _not_ let it heal and get more sprains in the future?” grumbles Kageyama, tapping his fingers on a nearby desk impatiently.

Hinata can’t think of an equally reasonable response to that, so he replies with a loud groan and a head-bang on his desk. The action brings out a small twitch of a smile from Kageyama (confirming Hinata’s suspicions that he’s a closet sadist) and a light-hearted sigh of ‘dumbass’.

But for all his name calling, he still asks Hinata if he’s doing okay more than fifty times that day.

(Hinata’s keeping track)

* * *

By the end of his first week, he gets so restless that he insists on attending practices, even though all it does is get him even _more_ fired up and sends his body into these weird twitch-spasms to the point that every word he speaks is accompanied by a grand-sweeping gesture in an attempt to burn the extra energy off. It doesn’t really help. In fact, it does the complete opposite.

Eventually, after almost hitting Suga and Yamaguchi- who had taken up the risky duty of keeping him occupied on the bench- in the face two times, each, Kageyama is eventually deployed so, in Daichi’s words, ‘the safety of the whole team can be guaranteed’.

So there they are, standing by the gym, bathed in the light of the fading sun. Sort of cliche, if one person swatting at mosquitoes and the other picking at vending machine buttons can be classified as ‘romantic’.

“Want one?”

Hinata shrugs, slapping at his forearm and reaching out without much thought. He’s not prepared for the sudden warmth that skims his hand, so very obvious against the cold of the juice can.

“Uh, t-thanks,” he stutters, fumbling and almost dropping the damned thing. Kageyama shrugs, an almost-surprised expression gracing his luminous features.

Luminous? What?

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Kageyama chooses that moment to produce a volleyball out of thin air and bonk Hinata’s head with it. “I have an idea,” he announces grandly, gesturing for Hinata to sit down.

The idea itself isn’t as grand as Kageyama makes it out to be.

“Tossing?” Hinata asks, disappointed. Flashback to memories of middle school consisting of tossing volleyballs off walls and benches and other people, trying to improve what scraps of skill he had. Some might call it a bridge to improvement, but when he looks back at it, it was kind of pathetic.

He’s just about to object to the idea when Kageyama glares. It’s suddenly very, very cold.

“Tossing! Tossing’’s fine!” The only reason he goes along with it is because he can’t insult Kageyama and then run away fast enough to escape the rebound of his actions (thank you, crutches). It’s not because Kageyama’s intimidating or anything. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

He doesn’t end up regretting it an hour later, because tossing’s actually pretty fun with Kageyama. Not as good as physically running around on the court, zipping from one end to the other while feeling the thrill of success everytime the ball fails to reach the ground, but Kageyama knows how to control the ball so that it escapes _just_ out of Hinata’s grasp, forcing him to shift along the bench to reach. Hinata does his best to pass the ball back with equal ferocity. Apparently, he did a pretty good job, since they both have beads of sweat running down their face and have equally flushed cheeks.

“That w’s good,” Hinata muffled voice says from behind the towel given to him by Tanaka. Their passing had apparently lasted until the end of practice, but if Kageyama’s bothered by the fact that he had missed more than half of practice, he doesn’t say.

“We could do it again tomorrow, if you want.” After a moment’s pause, “but only so you don’t drive everyone crazy, twitching like that.”

“I do _not_!” Hinata protests loudly, and throws the towel at Kageyama’s stupid, smirking, luminous face.

* * *

It becomes a sort-of ritual between them during practice. Hinata waits for two hours, and then tosses with Kageyama for one. Kageyama somehow seems to know how to make it harder and harder for him to get each time, so it never really gets old. Hinata can’t really do the same thing for the other, but Kageyama doesn't appear to mind at all. In fact, he seems to enjoy it more and more with each session, even giving Hinata a well-meant hair ruffle once (but quickly moving back, seemingly embarrassed. Hinata wouldn't admit it, but it felt kinda nice).

So obviously, he has to tell the news to Kageyama first.

“I can’t make it to practice.”

“Hm?”

Hinata scratches the back of his head. “Little sister’s sick and my mom doesn’t want to leave her alone. So I have to walk home, but apparently walking home at night with crutches is ‘dangerous’. So no practice.”

Kageyama makes a noise that’s something between a whine and a thoughtful ‘hmm’. The noise is so quizzical that it becomes cutely innocent. Like a kitten.

What?

It seems like he’s been having more and more weird thoughts like this whenever Kageyama’s around. Frankly, it’s starting to disturb him. He often wonders if this is a side effect of spraining an ankle. Maybe the juices that Kageyama’s been buying him have some kind of chemical in them that’s making him go crazy.

The lack of response from Kageyama is worrying. “That’s okay, right? Me not making it to practice?”

Kageyama gives him the classic ‘idiot’ look, saying, “Why would it not be? We can survive in practice without you and your maniac fidgeting, thanks. You should be more worried about yourself, dumbass. You’re going on a mountain trail. A _steep_ mountain trail. Do you even have anyone to carry your school bags?”

Hinata ponders that. “Ah… well… I can… carry it myself, I mean…” He had completely forgotten that the path to school was actually _up a mountain_. Two weeks of carpooling could do that to you. “So, whaddaya suggest I do?”

The only reply he gets is the crisp, abrupt sound of the bell. Kageyama whisks away almost instantly, leaving only the wind behind him. The spot where he stood feels like a missing puzzle piece; incomplete. He sighs, sets his crutches on the ground, and sits.

Hinata doesn’t find anyone who’s willing to carry his bags home by the end of the day, but the lack of effort on his part is solely to blame. But he doesn’t want to ask because he knows of _course_ they’ll accept, but not because of the goodness in their heart or anything, but just out of pity. He can’t say he regrets the decision of not talking to anyone (stupid manly pride or whatever he has), but he does spend most of class glaring at the sweltering afternoon sun with extreme loathing.

He prepares himself all afternoon for the long, hard trek home composed of balancing his school bag on his shoulder while not letting go of his crutches. Not to mention avoiding loose rocks on the rugged mountain trail and falling on his face. Which is why Kageyama’s appearance by the classroom entrance throws him off his game completely.

“What are you doing here?” asks Hinata, hobbling over to where the boy is standing. He’s a bit slow because of the burden on his shoulders weighing him down, as less homework is not a side effect of getting your ankle sprained. “There’s practice today, right?”

“Not going,” the other responds casually, like he hasn’t just announced the coming of the apocalypse. Kageyama? Volleyball fanatic? Not going to practice? Maybe there’s something in the juice after all. Kageyama rolls his eyes. “Give me your bag before you get even shorter.”

Hinata scowls, but does as he’s ordered to. “Thanks,” he says, watching Kageyama sling the bag over his free shoulder. He shifts both his bag and Hinata’s until he reaches a state of equilibrium. Hinata notices how he relaxes once the balance is restored- a slight gasp and then a cool gust of breath being exhaled. “Are you sure it’s okay?” Hinata pipes up. “For you to miss practice?”

Kageyama stares at him like that’s the most idiotic question he’s ever heard. “It’s just practice.”

 _‘Not to you’_ , Hinata is about to retort, but-

“It’s not quite the same without you anyway.”

Hinata’s head swivels, eyes wide, but Kageyama’s not quite meeting his line of sight as he marches ahead at a pace that’s a little too quick. “Come on, hurry up, it’ll take us ages to get to your house at this rate,” Kageyama calls from over his shoulder, indifferent tone sounding slightly forced.

Hinata gulps (the reason, he’s not entirely sure about), and starts to stagger ahead to catch up.

* * *

Let it be said that pity is worlds different from worry. And Hinata has first-hand experience.

Walking home with Kageyama is not full of tense silences and awkward conversation starters. Talk between them flows like a clear river, bubbling with energy and full of life. Kageyama doesn’t treat him any differently than he normally would, but Hinata notices he laughs- truly _laughs_ \- at even his stupidest jokes, and his smiles are a fraction wider than they would normally be. If this is because of worry, Hinata thinks he can deal with that.

But Kageyama also doesn’t change his walking pace for anything, but that’s okay, because Hinata had always liked challenges. Never mind the fact that he’s puffing slightly as he struggles to match the other’s pace.

“You know,” remarks Hinata,”I bet you could’ve been one of those genius kids that they’re always talking about on TV, if you hadn’t gotten into volleyball. Tsukishima’s always saying that you have a wicked-sharp memory and all that, and he’s right.”

“And the same wicked-sharp memory got me into supplementary lessons,” replies Kageyama with a soft snort of disbelief. “I don’t think so. I like volleyball better anyway, I’d rather be on the court than be stuck with books.”

Hinata supposes he has a point. He tries, for a moment, to imagine Kageyama as studious and comes up with some kind of Kageyama-Tsukishima crossover monster that has him bursting out laughing and renders him unable to stop.

“Oi! What are you thinking about? Are you thinking weird things about me?” Hinata pauses, takes one look at Kageyama, and then starts laughing again. “H-Hey! Stop!” Hinata, through smiling eyes, can see that Kageyama’s cheeks have flared up into a dark pink hue, and his eyes are sparkling with accusation, but a gleam of amusement as well. All in all, the look is fitting on him, handsome, even, if he were to describe-

oh _shit._

His laughing stops abruptly, falling to the pavement and slinking away like a snake. A dead snake. “What?” Kageyama asks, less demanding, more worried.

“A-Ah, nothing, imagination was working up.”

Kageyama snorts. “That’s always the case, with you.”

His brain- which seems to have crashed somewhere between ‘Kageyama’ and ‘handsome’’- only forces out a slow, sheepish grin.

Kageyama doesn’t look as if he’s bothered by this at all, and continues on to talk about some english quiz he had the other day. Hinata nods absently, offering thoughtful noises every few sentences while his mind fixates on Kageyama’s animated expressions and wild hand motions that go up and down and left and right like they’re on some sort of invisible rollercoaster. A slight smile dons the setter’s lips, and as small as it is, it somehow manages to brighten his whole face considerably.

His mental condition worsens when Kageyama insists on being his crutch on a particularly steep part of the road.

“I can go myself!” protests Hinata, even though the waterfall of sweat pouring down his face says otherwise.

“Don’t- be- such- an- idiot-” Kageyama growls back with equal force, wrenching one of the crutches away from the smaller’s grasp. With his balance disrupted, Hinata unwillingly falls back onto Kageyama’s waiting shoulder. Suddenly it’s _way_ too hot and he can feel a large burst of heat blossom on his cheeks.

“Fuck you!” Hinata shouts. He wants to wrench himself away so very badly, but that would involve falling onto the ground in agony and losing what little dignity has left which is just a little bit worse than his current situation. Just a little bit.

To add to the terror of his situation, Kageyama’s much taller than he is, so Hinata has to struggle to get his arms over, while Kageyama has to bend down slightly. It’s uncomfortable for both of them, and it would be easily solved if Kageyama would just _let him walk up the path by himself-_

“It’s just a hill,” says Kageyama stubbornly, apparently having gained mind-reading powers in the spur of the moment. His cheeks are badly flushed, and then Hinata registers how much he’s carrying. The two crutches, two bags, and half-supporting Hinata.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Hinata snorts.

“Not as badly as you did.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to make fun of a person’s disability.”

“Rude, but not illegal. I’m not making fun anyways, I’m comparing my potential situation to your current one.”

“That sounds _way_ too smart. I bet you don’t even know what that means.”

“I saw someone say that in a TV show once. Does it sound cool?”

Hinata laughs. “You quote TV _shows?_ ”

“Only when they’re _good_ quotes.”

“Even I don’t go that low.”

“It’s better than whatever rambling _you_ do all the time.”

“I don’t _ramble_.”

This conversation continues for quite a while, ping-ponging from topics such as TV quotes to brands of milk. Hinata’s so preoccupied with bouncing back Kageyama’s statements that he doesn’t even notice the last 30 minutes of the journey fly away until he sees the front door of his house.

“Thanks,” Hinata says, taking the bag and crutches. Had Kageyama really supported him the rest of the way home? Without one complaint? “You should come inside for a bit. Your house is, like, 20 minutes away, right?”

“Just for five minutes,” Kageyama declares. “For a quick drink.”

Fifty minutes and many glasses of water later, he’s still there.

* * *

“You and Kageyama are getting along well.”

Suga’s voice succeeds in tearing Hinata’s gaze from Kageyama (who’s hot and sweaty and looking oh-so-attractive) for a few moments. “Hm? Oh, yeah, well, he’s been helping me out and coming over and stuff, since, you know.”

He gestures towards his ankle, which is now in its fourth week of the healing process. The exercises the doctor had instructed him to do had really helped (special thanks to Kageyama for his constant words of insistence that he _had_ to do said exercises), and he can even manage hobbling on it for a couple of seconds now- an activity Kageyama discourages strongly. _Very_ strongly.

There’s a rapidly moving shadow in front of his face. Hinata blinks, leaning back quickly and almost hitting his head on the back wall. “Sorry,” Suga says. “You zoned out on me. It’s just that you and Kageyama are getting closer than you were before. A lot closer.” A pause. The senior’s eyes flit up and down before leaning in. “Are you two dating?”

A lot of things happen at that moment. One, Hinata forgets all about his injury and jolts upward into a standing position. Two, the unexpected movement causes a flash of pain, which makes his knees buckle and sends him falling on the floor. Three, Suga jumps back to avoid Hinata’s toppling body and knocks over all the spare volleyballs. The noise draws everyone’s attention instantaneously.

There’s a lot of reasons why his face feels like it’s catching on fire at that moment.

“You okay?” Kageyama’s at his side in a split second, gently helping him get back onto the bench. Hinata nods absently, still frazzled, his heart thumping strong and fast in his ears. He doesn’t catch the concern scrawled all over the setter’s features.

He turns to Suga, who looks sheepish. “Sorry,” says Suga, and truly looks as if he means it. Suga means everything he says, always, 100 percent. Including the previous question.

Which is why Hinata feels like he’s justified in shouting, “ _What was that?!_ ”

Kageyama’s gaze turns ice-cold and sweeps towards the senior, sharper than the finest dagger. Suga merely gives an apologetic smile in response, though Hinata swears he saw him flinch.

“It was just a question,” says Suga, directing the words at Kageyama. Turning towards Hinata, he continues, “a _reasonable_ one. It’s true that-”

“Nope nope nope nope nope,” Hinata cuts in, covering his hands over his ears in the way a child throwing a tantrum might.

He tries to convince himself that Suga did _not_ just ask him that. No no a hundred times no, go away and never come back no. Is it really so obvious? No, there’s nothing to be obvious about. Just because he looks at Kageyama sometimes and finds him just the tinsiest bit attractive does not mean that he’s _falling_ for the idiot. Just because his heart twirls and spins when Kageyama directs his creepy smile in his general direction, or because he spends most of practice contemplating how his eyes glimmer with laughter when a missed pass bounces of Hinata’s head doesn’t, _doesn’t_ , mean _anything_.

…

He’s doomed, isn’t he?

* * *

“Party at Hinata’s!” Tanaka declares one Friday evening after practice. Specifically, the Friday two days before he’s in the clear to get rid of the crutches for good. He’s practically bouncing by this point, itching to finally get back on his feet and _run_ \- zoom from one end of the court and feel the rush of adrenaline when the ball curves into his fingers as he slams it away. The single moment of the ball sailing over the net is pure _bliss_ , and Hinata’s been away from it for too long.

To his astonishment, the whole team agrees to the idea (even Tsukishima, who seems to regret the decision seconds after he’s made it when Tanaka and Nishinoya start hooting like crazy monkeys. He rolls his eyes like, _‘what have I gotten myself into’_ ). And thanks to the invention of convenience stores, they manage to scavenge together enough food and drinks for it to be somewhat of a decent party.

Hinata assumes that his mother’s exasperated expression when they all come hurling like cannonballs through the front door is a sign of acceptance ( _‘boys,’_ she’s probably thinking) and he makes sure to flash her a bright grin and a hurried ‘Thanks, mom!’.

He joins the others, who have already situated themselves in their own roles in the room. Daichi and Suga chatter softly in the back corner, ever the collected role models, while Nishinoya and Tanaka dig through the bin of games under the TV. Asahi hangs back, looking unsure of whether to stop them or not. Tsukishima quietly gazes on, amused, with Yamaguchi orbiting around him like a twittering bird.

Hinata hobbles over to the table, where the mountain of snacks have been deposited, and plops himself down next to Kageyama, who almost drops the pocky he’s nibbling at at the other’s arrival.

“Want one?” Kageyama asks, despite there being at least ten more packs of pocky right in front of them. Nevertheless, Hinata nods and reaches out towards the offered hand.

Time pauses for a heartbeat when their skin brushes one another’s. A brief feeling of warmth spreads over his fingertips and Hinata feels a vague sense of deja vu. ‘ _The juice can,’_   he remembers. Except, unlike the time four weeks before, he’s not the only one freezing up, the only one feeling a tingling of bursting fire in his cheeks.

Kageyama slowly lowers his hand after what seems like forever (what Hinata wishes was forever) and opens his mouth. Words are on the brink of escaping from his tongue, but before they fully form-

“Hey! Hinata! Kageyama!”

They both go rigid like toy soldiers, heads snapping towards the source of the voice. Nishinoya holds up four wii controllers and grins wickedly. “Mario Kart?”

* * *

Tsukishima turns out to be some kind of pro at Mario Kart. He expertly dodges all obstacles and then proceeds to leave everyone rolling in the dust using a combination of green shells and mushrooms. Even the mighty blue shell doesn’t faze him. Hinata swears it’s black magic.

He munches on a bowl of chips, laughing along with the others as Kageyama falls off a cliff just before the race ends. He gets a hard nudge of Kageyama’s elbow, but that only succeeds in making him laugh even harder. “Shut up!” Kageyama growls, though even he can’t resist smiling a little bit.

The atmosphere’s starting to wind down into something more warm and cozy, rather than the energized aura that had been floating about before. A shadow of a grin still lingers on Kageyama’s face as he proceeds to pass the controller on to Daichi, and Hinata would call it something like beautiful.

Hinata wonders if this is his body telling him to get some sleep, or a sign from fate telling him to grow a pair. 

This is going to end badly.

He takes a deep breath, and taps Kageyama’s shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Can I just talk to you for a sec?” Hinata asks, gesturing to the back door.

He leads them to the small, pitiful thing of a yard. The grass is untrimmed and there’s more _stone_ than _yard_ , but the fresh night air breezes by and the stars twinkle encouragingly in the dark curtain of the sky, and Hinata doesn’t regret his choice of location at all.

Here they go.

Kageyama shifts his feet. “What do you have to tell me out here that you couldn’t tell me inside?”

“I know-” Hinata stops. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?”

“For, you know.” Hinata’s language skills are not helping. At all. “For, the help. You’ve given me. With everything.”

“That’s what friends do,” Kageyama responds curtly, looking down.

There’s a huge lump in Hinata's throat. “Yeah. Friends.”

He can hear the thumping of his heart, the blood rushing like a tidal wave in his ears while he stands as still as a statue. He’s so unaccustomed to this. Volleyball is action- but no, this is chess.

So he waits.

A few minutes later, Kageyama looks up again and sighs. “You’re welcome, I guess. Now, if that’s-”

His body compels him to _act_ \- and it’s almost like instinct when his heels lift off the ground slightly and his face tilts forward and lingers over Kageyama’s heated skin for a fraction of a second before landing and-

It’s far from perfect, it’s messy and hurried, sloppy and wet but _still_ \- he can feel every bump and ridge of Kageyama’s lips on his, so very intoxicating and something he wouldn’t mind drowning under, the way their mouths match and just somehow feels _right_ like lock and key but-

_I’mkissingKageyamaTobio_

it’s like a train wreck. His whole mind is a horrible, disastrous, _fucking_ train wreck.

Hinata breaks away, trying to gulp in huge breaths of air while attempting to stammer out explanations at the same times. “I don’t- sorry I just don’t- I mean I didn’t mean to-”

Kageyama grabs the front of Hinata’s shirt, effectively shutting up his rambling. “Dumbass,” he says.

And presses their lips together.

Hinata is _actually_ drowning this time, his emotions running amok in underneath a haze of pleasure but mind strangely clear and blank, ‘ _Kageyama’s_ -

_“Whoo!”_

They jerk away from each other, turning towards the open door that’s flooding light onto the lawn. (Though Kageyama’s hands are still clutching Hinata’s collar like a lifeline and he finds a weird sort of thrill in that) Tanaka and Nishinoya let out a chorus of wolf-whistles with Tsukishima chortling in the background while the others smile, emotions ranging from fondness to smugness.

“I win,” Suga announces dramatically in the midst of all the crazy.

It takes a fair bit of time for Hinata to connect the two and two together (kind of obvious, since everyone sighs and reaches for their wallets after Suga’s declaration). By the time he does, Kageyama’s already dragged him back into the house, cheeks painted a bright red while glaring at most of the people in the room (all of whom smirk back).

* * *

The day the crutches are removed is the day Kageyama says,

“I meant it. Let’s go out.”

And they do. 


End file.
